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Bry Webb
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Viva
There's a hole in this town
Boneless and vacant
Where an old man turned ashes
Swirly and dusting
You rose with the smoke
Above our drunken faces flashing
Bark like a mule
Ye heavy angels
Bang that paper drum
Slack mouth on the steps
Low sacred heart
Too wicked to weep or mourn
Amass for the skirt
The neighbourhood
Carried off on a losing horse
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Zombie children
Rise up hidden
Clear your malice from the shelf
Make water on
The shackles upon you
Take pity on yourself
Bark like a mule
Ye heavy angels
Bang that paper drum
Viva the wild dog
Long live the low-life
Fallen daughters
And bastard sons
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